No one should feel this much shame
A while ago I was working in a private show booth at a peep show. I had a guy come in with a special request. He walked in, locked the door, and starting putting 20s into my counter — clearly a regular, but not one I’ve seen before. So I start playing up my school girl theme of the evening, and asking him what he wants to see. I always give customers a chance to tell me what they want even though most of them stutter along about wanting to see whatever I’ve got. This guy knew exactly what he wanted.
“Dominate me.” It wasn’t a command; more like a whispered plea.
How do you dominate someone through a glass wall? I’m sure it can be done, but with a complete stranger, I’m not the girl to do it. Still, I was on the clock. I went straight for the fantasy talk and he kindly provided the fantasy. Either my dirty-talk skills benefited from the on-the-job training I’d been getting, or some men come on command, but a few rounds of “don’t you just want to lick my shoes you filthy little slut” later and I thought I had another satisfied customer under my belt.
But as soon as the guy’s orgasm was over he turned beet red. He practically burrowed into the wall while trying to simultaneously put his pants on, shove a very generous tip into my box, and apologies for making me do that. Pants on, he ran out of the both faster than any customer before or since.
It breaks my heart that anyone would be so ashamed of their desires. I swear, I want to take them home like lost puppy dogs.